THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

BEQUEST  OF 

Alice  R.   Hilgard 


'  V 

.'3 


EMILY  DICKINSON'S  POEMS. 

Edited  by  two  of  her  friends,   Mabel   Loomis 
Todd  and  T.   IV.  Higginson. 

FIRST  AND  SECOND  SERIES.  i6mo,  cloth, 
price  of  each,  $1.25;  white  and  green 
cloth,  full  gilt,  price  of  each,  $1.50. 

The  above  two  volumes  in  one,  full  gilt, 
price,  $2.00. 

THIRD  SERIES.  Edited  by  Mabel  Loomis 
Todd,  $1.25.  White  and  green,  $1.50. 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY, 
Boston. 


POEMS 


BY 


EMILY    DICKINSON 


EUiteU  &g  tfoa  of  fter  JFvtenUs 
MABEL  LOOMIS  TODD  AND  T.  W.  HIGGINSON 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND    COMPANY 

1920 


Copyright,  1890, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS, 


R-P-  'Krj.  LJ3.     »7i  JT  7 
ACCESS.  NO.       ^      ^       ' 


GIFT 


PSlffl 


PREFACE. 


r"PHE  verses  of  Emily  Dickinson  belong  emphati 
cally  to  wh^t  Emerson  long  since  called  "  the 
Poetry  of  the  Portfolio,"  —  something  produced  abso 
lutely  withor.t  the  thought  of  publication,  and  solely 
by  way  of  e?'pi4ession  of  the  writer's  own  mind.  Such 
verse  must  inevitably  forfeit  whatever  advantage  lies 
in  the  discipline  of  public  criticism  and  the  enforced 
conformity  to  accepted  ways.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
may  often  gain  something  through  the  habit  of  free 
dom  and  the  unconventional  utterance  of  daring 
tlioup-hts.  In  the  case  of  the  present  author,  there 
was  absolutely  no  choice  in  the  matter;  she  must 
writ/  thus,  or  not  at  all.  A  recluse  by  temperament 
and  hab;i,  literally  spending  years  without  setting 
ler  fort  wyord  'he  doorstep,  and  many  more  years 


M880774 


iv  PREFACE. 

during  which  her  walks  were  strictly  limited  to  her 
father's  grounds,  she  habitually  concealed  her  mind, 
like  her  person,  from  all  but  a  very  few  friends ;  and 
it  was  with  great  difficulty  that  she  was  persuaded  to 
print,  during  her  lifetime,  three  or  four  poems.  Yet 
she  wrote  verses  in  great  abundance ;  and  though 
curiously  indifferent  to  all  conventional  rules,  had  yet 
a  rigorous  literary  standard  of  her  own,  and  often 
altered  a  word  many  times  to  suit  an  ear  which  had 
its  own  tenacious  fastidiousness. 

Miss  Dickinson  was  born  in  Amherst,  Mass., 
Dec.  10,  1830,  and  died  there  May  15,  1886.  Her 
father,  Hon.  Edward  Dickinson,  was  the  leading 
lawyer  of  Amherst,  and  was  treasurer  of  the  well-known 
college  there  situated.  It  was  his  custom  once  a  year 
to  hold  a  large  reception  at  his  house,  attended  by  all 
the  families  connected  with  the  institution  and  by  the 
leading  people  of  the  town.  On  these  occasions  his 
daughter  Emily  emerged  from  her  wonted  retirement 
and  did  her  part  as  gracious  hostess ;  nor  would  any 
one  have  known  from  her  manner,  I  have  been  told, 
that  this  was  not  a  daily  occurrence.  The  annual 


PREFACE.  v 

occasion  once  past,  she  withdrew  again  into  her 
seclusion,  and  except  for  a  very  few  friends  was  as 
invisible  to  the  world  as  if  she  had  dwelt  in  a  nunnery. 
For  myself,  although  I  had  corresponded  with  her  for 
many  years,  I  saw  her  but  twice  face  to  face,  and 
brought  away  the  impression  of  something  as  unique 
and  remote  as  Undine  or  Mignon  or  Thekla. 

This  selection  from  her  poems  is  published  to  meet 
the  desire  of  her  personal  friends,  and  especially  of 
her  surviving  sister.  It  is  believed  that  the  thought 
ful  reader  will  find  in  these  pages  a  quality  more 
suggestive  of  the  poetry  of  William  Blake  than  of  any 
thing  to  be  elsewhere  found,  —  flashes  of  wholly  origi 
nal  and  profound  insight  into  nature  and  life ;  words 
and  phrases  exhibiting  an  extraordinary  vividness  of 
descriptive  and  imaginative  power,  yet  often  set  in 
a  seemingly  whimsical  or  even  rugged  frame.  They 
are  here  published  as  they  were  written,  with  very  few 
and  superficial  changes ;  although  it  is  fair  to  say  that 
the  titles  have  been  assigned,  almost  invariably,  by  the 
editors.  In  many  cases  these  verses  will  seem  to  the 
reader  like  poetry  torn  up  by  the  roots,  with  rain  and 


VI  PREFACE. 

dew  and  earth  still  clinging  to  them,  giving  a  fresh 
ness  and  a  fragrance  not  otherwise  to  be  conveyed. 
In  other  cases,  as  in  the  few  poems  of  shipwreck  or 
of  mental  conflict,  we  can  only  wonder  at  the  gift  of 
vivid  imagination  by  which  this  recluse  woman  can 
delineate,  by  a  few  touches,  the  very  crises  of  physical 
or  mental  struggle.  And  sometimes  again  we  catch 
glimpses  of  a  lyric  strain,  sustained  perhaps  but  for  a 
line  or  two  at  a  time,  and  making  the  reader  regret  its 
sudden  cessation.  But  the  main  quality  of  these 
poems  is  that  of  extraordinary  grasp  and  insight, 
uttered  with  an  uneven  vigor  sometimes  exasperating, 
seemingly  wayward,  but  really  unsought  and  inevitable. 
After  all,  when  a  thought  takes  one's  breath  away, 
a  lesson  on  grammar  seems  an  impertinence.  As 
Ruskin  wrote  in  his  earlier  and  better  days,  "  No 
Weight  nor  mass  nor  beauty  of  execution  can  out 
weigh  one  grain  or  fragment  of  thought." 

THOMAS   WENTWORTH   HIGGINSON 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

PREFACE      iii 

PRELUDE      9 


BOOK   I.— LIFE. 

I.  Success 13 

II.  "  Our  share  of  night  to  bear  " 14 

III.  Rouge  et  Noir 15 

IV.  Rouge  gagne 16 

V.  "  Glee  !  the  great  storm  is  over  " 17  & 

VI.  "  If  I  can  stop  one  heart  from  breaking  "    .     .     .  18 

VII.  Almost 19 

VIII.  "  A  wounded  deer  leaps  highest  " 20 

^IX.  "  The  heart  asks  pleasure  first " 2I 

X.  In  a  Library 22 

XI.  "  Much  madness  is  divinest  sense  " 24 

XII.  "  I  asked  no  oilier  thing  " 25 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

XIII.  Exclusion 26 

XIV.  The  Secret 27 

XV.  The  Lonelv  House 28 

XVI.  "  To  fight  aloud  is  very  brave  " 30 

XVII.  Dawn 31 

XVIII.  The  Book  of  Martyrs 32* 

*XIX.  The  Mystery  of  Pain 33 

XX.  "  I  taste  a  liquor  never  brewed  " 34 

,,-XXI.  A  Book 35 

*XXII.  "  I  had  no  time  to  hate,  because  " 36 

XXIII.  Unreturning 37 

XXIV.  "  Whether  my  bark  went  down  at  sea"      ...  38 
XXV.  "  Belshazzar  had  a  letter  " 39 

XXVI.  "  The  brain  within  its  groove  " 40 

BOOK    II.—  LOVE. 

I.  Mine 43 

II.  Bequest 44 

III.  "  Alter  ?     When  the  hills  do  " 45  ' 

IV.  Suspense 46 

V.  Surrender 47 

VI.  "  If  you  were  coming  in  the  fall  " 48  ?' 

VII.  With  a  Flower 50 


CONTENTS,  ix 

PAGB 

VIII.  Proof 51 

IX.  "  Have  you  got  a  brook  in  your  little  heart  ?"  .  52 

AX.  Transplanted 53 

XL  The  Outlet 54 

XII.  In  vain 55 

XIII.  Renunciation 58 

XIV.  Love's  Baptism 60 

XV.  Resurrection 62 

XVI.  Apocalypse 63 

XVII.  The  Wife 64 

XVIII.  Apotheosis 65 


BOOK   III.  — NATURE. 

I.     "  New  feet  within  my  garden  go  " 69 

II.     Mayflower 70 

III.  Why? 71 

IV.  "  Perhaps  you  'd  like  to  buy  a  flower  "     ...  72 
V.     "  The  pedigree  of  honey  "       73 

VI.     A  Service  of  Song 74 

VII.     "  The  bee  is  not  afraid  of  me  " 75 

VIII.     Summer's  Armies 76 

IX.     The  Grass 78 


x  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

X.     "  A  little  road  not  made  of  man  " 80 

XL     Summer  Shower 81 

XII.     Psalm  of  the  Day 82 

— •"•"XIII.     The  Sea  of  Sunset 84 

XIV.     Purple  Clover *.     .  85 

XV.     The  Bee 87 

XVI.  "  Presentiment  is  that  long  shadow  "      ...  88 

XVII.  "  As  children  bid  the  guest  good-night  "    .     .  89 

ll.     "  Angels  in  the  early  morning  " 90 

XIX.     "  So  bashful  when  I  spied  her  " 91 

XX.     Two  Worlds 92 

--^XXL     The  Mountain 93 

XXII.     A  Day 94 

XXIII.  "  The  butterfly's  assumption-gown  ".     ...  95 

XXIV.  The  Wind 96 

XXV.     Death  and  Life 98 

XXVI.  "  'T  was  later  when  the  summer  went  "...  99 

XXVII.     Indian  Summer 100 

*  XXVIII.    Autumn 102 

XXIX.     Beclouded 103 

XXX.     The  Hemlock 104 

XXXI.  "  There  's  a  certain  slant  of  light "     .    .    .    .  106 


CONTENTS.  Xi 


BOOK   IV.  — TIME   AND   ETERNITY. 

PAGE 

I.  "  One  dignity  delays  for  all  " 109 

II.  Too  late no 

III.  Astra  Castra 112 

X^IV.  '•  Safe  in  their  alabaster  chambers  "     ...  113 

V.  "On  this  long  storm  the  rainbow  rose"  .     .  114 

VI.  From  the  chrysalis 115 

VII.  Setting  sail 116 

VIII.  "  Look  back  on  time  with  kindly  eyes"  .     .  117 

IX.  "  A  train  went  through  a  burial  gate  "      .     .  118 

X.  "  I  died  for  beauty,  but  was  scarce"    ...  119 

*""~"1*XI.  Troubled  about  many  things 120 

XII.  Real 121 

XIII.  A  Funeral 122 

XIV.  "  I  went  to  thank  her  " .  123 

XV.  <l  I  've  seen  a  dying  eye  " 124 

XVI.  Refuge 125 

XVII.  "  I  never  saw  a  moor  "       126 

^XVIII.  Playmates .     .  127 

XIX.  "  To  know  just  how  he  suffered  "...  128 

XX.  "  The  last  night  that  she  lived  "      ....  130 


Xll 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 


The  First  Lesson        132 

"  The  bustle  in  a  house  " 133 


134 

135 

136 

137 

138- 

140 


"  I  reason,  earth  is  short  "      .... 
"  Afraid  ?     Of  whom  am  I  afraid  ? "     . 

Dying 

"  Two  swimmers  wrestled  on  a  spar  " 

The  Chariot 

"  She  went  as  quiet  as  the  dew  "     .     . 

Resuvgam 141 

"Except  to  heaven  she  is  nought  "...  142 

"  Death  is  a  dialogue  between  "      ....  143 

"  It  was  too  late  for  man  " 144 

Along  the  Potomac 145 

"  The  daisy  follows  soft  the  Sun  "  .     .     .     .  146 

Emancipation H7 

Lost 148 

"If  I  shouldn't  be  alive" 149 

"  Sleep  is  supposed  to  be  " 15° 

"  I  shall  know  why  when  time  is  over  "    .     .  151 

"  I  never  lost  as  much  but  twice  "    .     .     .     .  1 52 


HTHIS  is  my  letter  to   the  world, 
That  never  wrote  to   me, — 
The  simple  news  that  Nature   told. 
With  tender  majesty. 

Her  message  is  committed 
To  hands  I  cannot  see ; 
For  love  of  her,   sweet  countrymen, 
J"  dge  tenderly  of  me! 


I. 

LIFE. 


POEMS. 

i. 

SUCCESS. 

[Published  in   "  A   Masque   of    Poets "  at  the   request  of 
H.  H.,"  the  author's  fellow-townswoman  and  friend.] 

SUCCESS  is  counted  sweetest 
By  those  who  ne'er  succeed. 
To  comprehend  a  nectar 
Requires  sorest  need. 

Not  one  of  all  the  purple  host 
Who  took  the  flag  to-day 
Can  tell  the  definition, 
So  clear,  of  victory, 

As  he,  defeated,  dying, 
On  whose  forbidden  ear 
The  distant  strains  of  triumph 
Break,  agonized  and  clear. 


14  POEMS. 


II. 

R  share  of  night  to  bear. 
Our  share  of  morning, 

Our  blank  in  bliss  to  fill, 

Our  blank  in  scorning. 

Here  a  star,  and  there  a  star, 
Some  lose  their  way. 
Here  a  mist,  and  there  a  mist, 
Afterwards  —  day  ! 


POEMS. 


III. 
ROUGE   ET   NOIR. 

SOUL,  wilt  thou  toss  again? 
By  just  such  a  hazard 
Hundreds  have  lost,  indeed, 
But  tens  have  won  an  all. 

Angels'  breathless  ballot 
Lingers  to  record  thee ; 
Imps  in  eager  caucus 
Raffle  for  my  soul. 


POEMS. 

IV. 

ROUGE   GAGNE. 

IS  so  much  joy  !     'T  is  so  much  joy  ! 

If  I  should  fail,  what  poverty  ! 
And  yet,  as  poor  as  I 
Have  ventured  all  upon  a  throw ; 
Have  gained  !     Yes  !     Hesitated  so 
This  side  the  victory  ! 

Life  is  but  life,  and  death  but  death  ! 
Bliss  is  but  bliss,  and  breath  but  breath ! 
And  if,  indeed,  I  fail, 
At  least  to  know  the  worst  is  sweet. 
Defeat  means  nothing  but  defeat, 
No  drearier  can  prevail ! 

And  if  I  gain,  —  oh,  gun  at  sea, 
Oh.  bells  that  in  the  steeples  be, 
At  first  repeat  it  slow  ! 
For  heaven  is  a  different  thing 
Conjectured,  and  waked  sudden  in, 
And  might  o'erwhelm  me  so  ! 


POEMS. 


V. 


LEE  !  the  great  storm  is  over  ! 

Four  have  recovered  the  land  ; 
Forty  gone  down  together 
Into  the  boiling  sand. 

Ring,  for  the  scant  salvation  ! 
Toll,  for  the  bonnie  souls,  — 
Neighbor  and  friend  and  bridegroom, 
Spinning  upon  the  shoals  ! 

How  they  will  tell  the  shipwreck 
When  winter  shakes  the  door, 
Till  the  children  ask,  "  But  the  forty? 
Did  they  come  back  no  more?  " 

Then  a  silence  suffuses  the  story, 
And  a  softness  the  teller's  eye  ; 
And  the  children  no  further  question, 
And  only  the  waves  reply. 


POEMS. 


VI. 

T  F  I  can  stop  one  heart  from  breaking, 

I  shall  not  live  in  vain ; 
If  I  can  ease  one  life  the  aching, 
Or  cool  one  pain, 
Or  help  one  fainting  robin 
Unto  his  nest  again, 
I  shall  not  live  in  vain. 


POEMS. 


VII. 

ALMOST ! 

T  T  7ITHIN  my  reach  ! 

*  *       I  could  have  touched  ! 
I  might  have  chanced  that  way  ! 
Soft  sauntered  through  the  village, 
Sauntered  as  soft  away  ! 
So  unsuspected  violets 
Within  the  fields  lie  low, 
Too  late  for  striving  fingers 
That  passed,  an  hour  ago. 


20  POEMS. 


VIII. 


A    WOUNDED  deer  leaps  highest, 
"  I  Ve  heard  the  hunter  tell ; 
'T  is  but  the  ecstasy  of  death, 
And  then  the  brake  is  still. 


The  smitten  rock  that  gushes, 
The  trampled  steel  that  springs 
A  cheek  is  always  redder 
Just  where  the  hectic  stings  ! 

Mirth  is  the  mail  of  anguish, 
In  which  it  cautious  arm, 
Lest  anybody  spy  the  blood 
And  "You  're  hurt  "  exclaim  ! 


POEMS.  21 


IX. 

/T^HE  heart  asks  pleasure  first, 

And  then,  excuse  from  pain; 
And  then,  those  little  anodynes 
That  deaden  suffering ; 

And  then,  to  go  to  sleep ; 
And  then,  if  it  should  be 
The  will  of  its  Inquisitor, 
The  liberty  to  die. 


22  POEMS. 


IN  A  LIBRARY. 

A    PRECIOUS,  mouldering  pleasure  't  is 
•^    To  meet  an  antique  book, 
In  just  the  dress  his  century  wore ; 
A  privilege,  I  think, 

His  venerable  hand  to  take, 
And  warming  in  our  own, 
A  passage  back,  or  two,  to  make 
To  times  when  he  was  young. 

His  quaint  opinions  to  inspect, 
His  knowledge  to  unfold 
On  what  concerns  our  mutual  mind, 
The  literature  of  old  ; 

What  interested  scholars  most, 
What  competitions  ran 
When  Plato  was  a  certainty, 
And  Sophocles  a  man ; 


POEMS.  23 

When  Sappho  was  a  living  girl, 
And  Beatrice  wore 
The  gown  that  Dante  deified. 
Facts,  centuries  before, 

He  traverses  familiar, 

As  one  should  come  to  town 

And  tell  you  all  your  dreams  were  true  : 

He  lived  where  dreams  were  sown. 

His  presence  is  enchantment, 

You  beg  him  not  to  go ; 

Old  volumes  shake  their  vellum  heads 

And  tantalize,  just  so. 


24  POEMS. 


XL 

TV  yfUCH  madness  is  divinest  sense 

•"•*•     To  a  discerning  eye ; 

Much  sense  the  starkest  madness. 

Tis  the  majority 

In  this,  as  all,  prevails. 

Assent,  and  you  are  sane  ; 

Demur,  —  you  're  straightway  dangerous, 

And  handled  with  a  chain. 


POEMS 


XII. 

T  ASKED  no  other  thing, 
-*•      No  other  was  denied. 
I  offered  Being  for  it ; 
The  mighty  merchant  smiled. 

Brazil?     He  twirled  a  button, 
Without  a  glance  my  way : 
"  But,  madam,  is  there  nothing  else 
That  we  can  show  to-day?  " 


POEMS. 

XIII. 

EXCLUSION. 

'""PHE  soul  selects  her  own  society, 
-*•       Then  shuts  the  door ; 
On  her  divine  majority 
Obtrude  no  more. 

Unmoved,  she  notes  the  chariot's  pausing 
At  her  low  gate  ; 

Unmoved,  an  emperor  is  kneeling 
Upon  her  mat. 

I  Ve  known  her  from  an  ample  nation 
Choose  one ; 

Then  close  the  valves  of  her  attention 
Like  stone. 


POEMS.  27 


XIV. 
THE   SECRET. 

O  OME  things  that  fly  there  be,  - 
^  Birds,  hours,  the  bumble-bee 
Of  these  no  elegy. 

Some  things  that  stay  there  be,  — 
Grief,  hills,  eternity : 
Nor  this  behooveth  me. 

There  are,  that  resting,  rise. 
Can  I  expound  the  skies? 
How  still  the  riddle  lies  ! 


28  POEMS, 


XV. 
THE   LONELY   HOUSE. 

T  KNOW  some  lonely  houses  off  the  road 

A  robber  'd  like  the  look  of.  — 
Wooden  barred, 
And  windows  hanging  low, 
Inviting  to 
A  portico, 

Where  two  could  creep : 
One  hand  the  tools, 
The  other  peep 
To  make  sure  all 's  asleep. 
Old-fashioned  eyes, 
Not  easy  to  surprise  ! 

How  orderly  the  kitchen  'd  look  by  night, 

With  just  a  clock,  — 

But  they  could  gag  the  tick, 

And  mice  won't  bark  ; 

And  so  the  walls  don't  tell, 

None  will. 


POEMS  29 


A  pair  of  spectacles  ajar  just  stir  — 

An  almanac's  aware 

Was  it  the  mat  winked, 

Or  a  nervous  star  ? 

The  moon  slides  down  the  stair 

To  see  who  's  there. 

There'  s  plunder,  —  where? 
Tankard,  or  spoon, 
Earring,  or  stone, 
A  watch,  some  ancient  brooch 
To  match  the  grandmamma, 
Staid  sleeping  there. 

Day  rattles,  too, 

Stealth  's  slow ; 

The  sun  has  got  as  far 

As  the  third  sycamore. 

Screams  chanticleer, 

"Who's  there?" 

And  echoes,  trains  away, 

Sneer— "Where?" 

While  the  old  couple,  just  astir, 

Fancy  the  sunrise  left  the  door  ajar ! 


POEMS. 


XVI. 

n^O  fight  aloud  is  very  brave, 

But  gallanter,  I  know, 
Who  charge  within  the  bosom, 
The  cavalry  of  woe. 

Who  win,  and  nations  do  not  see, 
Who  fall,  and  none  observe, 
Whose  dying  eyes  no  country 
Regards  with  patriot  love. 

We  trust,  in  plumed  procession, 
For  such  the  angels  go, 
Rank  after  rank,  with  even  feet 
And  uniforms  of  snow. 


POEMS.  3* 


XVII. 
DAWN. 

"V  X7HEN  night  is  almost  done, 

And  sunrise  grows  so  near 
That  we  can  touch  the  spaces, 
It 's  time  to  smooth  the  hair 

And  get  the  dimples  ready, 
And  wonder  we  could  care 
For  that  old  faded  midnight 
That  frightened  but  an  hour. 


32  POEMS. 


XVIII. 
THE   BOOK   OF   MARTYRS. 

73  EAD,  sweet,  how  others  strove, 

Till  we  are  stouter ; 
What  they  renounced, 
Till  we  are  less  afraid ; 
How  many  times  they  bore 
The  faithful  witness, 
Till  we  are  helped, 
As  if  a  kingdom  cared  ! 

Read  then  of  faith 
That  shone  above  the  fagot; 
Clear  strains  of  hymn 
The  river  could  not  drown ; 
Brave  names  of  men 
And  celestial  women, 
Passed  out  of  record 
Into  renown  ! 


POEMS.  33 


XIX. 
THE   MYSTERY   OF   PAIN. 

T)AIN  has  an  element  of  blank 
-*-       It  cannot  recollect 
When  it  began,  or  if  there  were 
A  day  when  it  was  not. 

It  has  no  future  but  itself, 
Its  infinite  realms  contain 
Its  past,  enlightened  to  perceive 
New  periods  of  pain. 


34  POEMS. 


XX. 

T  TASTE  a  liquor  never  brewed, 
-*•      From  tankards  scooped  in  pearl ; 
Not  all  the  vats  upon  the  Rhine 
Yield  such  an  alcohol ! 

Inebriate  of  air  am  I, 

And  debauchee  of  dew, 

Reeling,  through  endless  summer  days, 

From  inns  of  molten  blue. 

When  landlords  turn  the  drunken  bee 
Out  of  the  foxglove's  door, 
When  butterflies  renounce  their  drams, 
I  shall  but  drink  the  more  ! 

Till  seraphs  swing  their  snowy  hats. 
And  saints  to  windows  run, 
To  see  the  little  tippler 
Leaning  against  the  sun  ! 


POEMS.  35 


XXI. 

A   BOOK. 


T  T  E  ate  and  drank  the  precious  words, 

•*•          His  spirit  grew  robust ; 

He  knew  no  more  that  he  was  poor, 

Nor  that  his  frame  was  dust. 

He  danced  along  the  dingy  days, 

And  this  bequest  of  wings 

Was  but  a.  book.    What  liberty 

A  loosened  spirit  brings  1 


POEMS. 


XXII. 

T  HAD  no  time  to  hate,  because 
A     The  grave  would  hinder  me, 
And  life  was  not  so  ample  I 
Could  finish  enmity. 

Nor  had  I  time  to  love  ;  but  since 
Some  industry  must  be, 
The  little  toil  of  love,  I  thought, 
Was  large  enough  for  me. 


POEMS. 

XXIII. 
UNRETURNING. 

'  /1P  WAS  such  a  little,  little  boat 

That  toddled  down  the  bay  ! 
'T  was  such  a  gallant,  gallant  sea 
That  beckoned  it  away  ! 

'T  was  such  a  greedy,  greedy  wave 
That  licked  it  from  the  coast ; 
Nor  ever  guessed  the  stately  sails 
My  little  craft  was  lost ! 


POEMS. 


XXIV. 

HETHER  my  bark  went  down  at  sea, 

Whether  she  met  with  gales, 
Whether  to  isles  enchanted 
She  bent  her  docile  sails ; 

By  what  mystic  mooring 
She  is  held  to-day,  — 
This  is  the  errand  of  the  eye 
Out  upon  the  bay. 


PO&MS.  39 


XXV. 

T3ELSHAZZAR  had  a  letter, 
-*-^     He  never  had  but  one  : 
Belshazzar's  correspondent 
Concluded  and  begun 
In  that  immortal  copy 
The  conscience  of  us  all 
Can  read  without  its  glasses 
On  revelation's  wall. 


40  POEMS. 


XXVI. 

*  I  ''HE  brain  within  its  groove 
•*•       Runs  evenly  and  true ; 
But  let  a  splinter  swerve, 
7  T  were  easier  for  you 
To  put  the  water  back 
When  floods  have  slit  the  hills, 
And  scooped  a  turnpike  for  themselves, 
And  blotted  out  the  mills! 


II. 

LOVE. 


POEMS.  43 

I. 

MINE. 

TV /f  INE  by  the  right  of  the  white  election ! 

Mine  by  the  royal  seal ! 
Mine  by  the  sign  in  t  he  scarlet  prison 
Bars  cannot  conceal ! 

Mine,  here  in  vision  and  in  veto  ! 
Mine,  by  the  grave's  repeal 
Titled,  confirmed,  —  delirious  charter  ! 
Mine,  while  the  ages  steal ! 


44  POEMS. 


II. 

BEQUEST. 

"V7OU  left  me,  sweet,  two  legacies,  — • 
•*•       A  legacy  of  love 
A  Heavenly  Father  would  content, 
Had  He  the  offer  of; 

You  left  me  boundaries  of  pain 
Capacious  as  the  sea, 
Between  eternity  and  time, 
Your  consciousness  and  me. 


POEMS.  45 


III. 

A  LTER?   When  the  hills  do. 
*"*     Falter?    When  the  sun 
Question  if  his  glory 
Be  the  perfect  one. 

Surfeit?    When  the  daffodil 
Doth  of  the  dew  : 
Even  as  herself,  O  friend  ! 
I  will  of  you  ! 


46 


IV. 
SUSPENSE. 

T7  LYSIUM  is  as  far  as  to 
^     The  very  nearest  room, 
If  in  that  room  a  friend  await 
Felicity  or  doom. 

What  fortitude  the  soul  contains, 
That  it  can  so  endure 
The  accent  of  a  coming  foot, 
The  opening  of  a  door  ! 


POEMS.  47 

V. 

SURRENDER. 

TAOUBT  me,  my  dim  companion  ! 
••"^     Why,  God  would  be  content 
With  but  a  fraction  of  the  love 
Poured  thee  without  a  stint. 
The  whole  of  me,  forever, 
What  more  the  woman  can,  — 
Say  quick,  that  I  may  dower  thee 
With  last  delight  I  own  ! 

It  cannot  be  my  spirit, 
For  that  was  thine  before  ; 
I  ceded  all  of  dust  I  knew,  — 
What  opulence  the  more 
Had  I,  a  humble  maiden, 
Whose  farthest  of  degree 
Was  that  she  might, 
Some  distant  heaven, 
Dwell  timidly  with  thee  ! 


POEMS. 


VI. 

T  F  you  were  coming  in  the  fall, 

I  'd  brush  the  summer  by 
With  half  a  smile  and  half  a  spurn, 
As  housewives  do  a  fly. 

If  I  could  see  you  in  a  year, 

I  'd  wind  the  months  in  balls, 

And  put  them  each  in  separate  drawers, 

Until  their  time  befalls. 

If  only  centuries  delayed, 
I  'd  count  them  on  my  hand, 
Subtracting  till  my  fingers  dropped 
Into  Van  Diemen's  land. 

If  certain,  when  this  life  was  out, 
That  yours  and  mine  should  be, 
I  'd  toss  it  yonder  like  a  rind, 
And  taste  eternity. 


POEMS.  49 


But  now,  all  ignorant  of  the  length 
Of  time's  uncertain  wing, 
It  goads  me,  like  the  goblin  bee, 
That  will  not  state  its  sting. 


5°  POEMS. 


WITH   A   FLOWER. 

T  HIDE  myself  within  my  flower, 

That  wearing  on  your  breast, 
You,  unsuspecting,  wear  me  too  — 
And  angels  know  the  rest. 

I  hide  myself  within  my  flower, 
That,  fading  from  your  vase, 
You,  unsuspecting,  feel  for  me 
Almost  a  loneliness. 


POEMS.  51 

VIII. 
PROOF. 

'1PHAT  I  did  always  love, 

•*-       I  bring  thee  proof: 
That  till  I  loved 
I  did  not  love  enough. 

That  I  shall  love  alway, 

I  offer  thee 

That  love  is  life, 

And  life  hath  immortality. 

This,  dost  thou  doubt,  sweet? 
Then  have  I 
Nothing  to  show 
But  Calvary. 


52  POEMS. 


IX. 


T  T  AVE  you  got  a  brook  in  your  little  heart, 

Where  bashful  flowers  blow, 
And  blushing  birds  go  down  to  drink, 
And  shadows  tremble  so? 

And  nobody  knows,  so  still  it  flows, 
That  any  brook  is  there  ; 
And  yet  your  little  draught  of  life 
Is  daily  drunken  there. 

Then  look  out  for  the  little  brook  in  March, 
When  the  rivers  overflow, 
And  the  snows  come  hurrying  from  the  hills, 
And  the  bridges  often  go. 

And  later,  in  August  it  may  be, 
When  the  meadows  parching  lie, 
Beware,  lest  this  little  brook  of  life 
Some  burning  noon  go  dry  ! 


POEMS.  53 

X. 

TRANSPLANTED. 

A  S  if  some  little  Arctic  flower, 
^"^     Upon  the  polar  hem, 
Went  wandering  down  the  latitudes, 
Until  it  puzzled  came 
To  continents  of  summer, 
To  firmaments  of  sun, 
To  strange,  bright  crowds  of  flowers, 
And  birdc  of  foreign  tongue  ! 
I  say,  as  if  this  little  flower 
To  Eden  wandered  in  — 
What  then?     Why,  nothing,  only 
Your  inference  therefrom  1 


54  POEMS. 

XL 
THE   OUTLET. 

TV  yfY  river  runs  to  thee  : 

•*'*•*•      Blue  sea,  wilt  welcome  me? 

My  river  waits  reply. 
Oh  sea,  look  graciously  ! 

I  '11  fetch  thee  brooks 
From  spotted  nooks,  — 

Say,  sea, 
Take  me  ! 


POEMS.  5  5 

XII. 
IN    VAIN. 


T  CANNOT  live  with  you, 
•^      It  would  be  life, 
And  life  is  over  there 
Behind  the  shelf 

The  sexton  keeps  the  key  to, 
Putting  up 

Our  life,  his  porcelain, 
Like  a  cup 

Discarded  of  the  housewife, 
Quaint  or  broken ; 
A  newer  Sevres  pleases, 
Old  ones  crack. 

I  could  not  die  with  you, 
For  one  must  wait 
To  shut  the  other's  gaze  down, 
You  could  not. 


56  POEMS. 

And  I,  could  I  stand  by 
And  see  you  freeze, 
Without  my  right  of  frost, 
Death's  privilege  ? 

Nor  could  I  rise  with  you, 
Because  your  face 
Would  put  out  Jesus', 
That  new  grace 

Glow  plain  and  foreign 
On  my  homesick  eye, 
Except  that  you,  than  he 
Shone  closer  by. 

They  'd  judge  us  —  how  ? 

For  you  served  Heaven,  you  know, 

Or  sought  to ; 

I  could  not, 

Because  you  saturated  sight, 
And  I  had  no  more  eyes 
For  sordid  excellence 
As  Paradise. 


POEMS.  57 


And  were  you  lost,  I  would  be, 

Though  my  name 

Rang  loudest 

On  the  heavenly  fame. 

And  were  you  saved, 
And  I  condemned  to  be 
Where  you  were  not, 
That  self  were  hell  to  me. 

So  we  must  keep  apart, 

You  there,  I  here, 

With  just  the  door  ajar 

That  oceans  are, 

And  prayer, 

And  that  pale  sustenance, 

Despair ! 


POEMS. 

XIII. 

RENUNCIATION. 

HP  HERE  came  a  day  at  summer's  full 

Entirely  for  me ; 

I  thought  that  such  were  for  the  saints, 
Where  revelations  be. 

The  sun,  as  common,  went  abroad, 
The  flowers,  accustomed,  blew, 
As  if  no  soul  the  solstice  passed 
That  maketh  all  things  new. 

The  time  was  scarce  profaned  by  speech ; 

The  symbol  of  a  word 

Was  needless,  as  at  sacrament 

The  wardrobe  of  our  Lord. 

Each  was  to  each  the  sealed  church, 
Permitted  to  commune  this  time, 
Lest  we  too  awkward  show 
At  supper  of  the  Lamb. 


POEMS.  59 

The  hours  slid  fast,  as  hours  will, 
Clutched  tight  by  greedy  hands ; 
So  faces  on  two  decks  look  back, 
Bound  to  opposing  lands. 

And  so,  when  all  the  time  had  failed, 
Without  external  sound, 
Each  bound  the  other's  crucifix, 
We  gave  no  other  bond. 

Sufficient  troth  that  we  shall  rise  — 
Deposed,  at  length,  the  grave  — 
To  that  new  marriage,  justified 
Through  Calvaries  of  Love  ! 


6o 


POEMS. 


XIV. 
LOVE'S   BAPTISM. 

T  'M  ceded,  I  Ve  stopped  being  theirs ; 

The  name  they  dropped  upon  my  face 
With  water,  in  the  country  church, 
Is  finished  using  now, 
And  they  can  put  it  with  my  dolls, 
My  childhood,  and  the  string  of  spools 
I  Ve  finished  threading  too. 

Baptized  before  without  the  choice, 

But  this  time  consciously,  of  grace 

Unto  supremest  name, 

Called  to  my  full,  the  crescent  dropped, 

Existence's  whole  arc  filled  up 

With  one  small  diadem. 

My  second  rank,  too  small  the  first, 
Crowned,  crowing  on  my  father's  breast, 


POEMS.  6k 


A  half  unconscious  queen ; 
But  this  time,  adequate,  erect, 
With  will  to  choose  or  to  reject 
And  I  choose  — just  a  throne. 


62  POEMS. 

XV. 
RESURRECTION. 

"~P  WAS  a  long  parting,  but  the  time 

For  interview  had  come  ; 
Before  the  judgment-seat  of  God, 
The  last  and  second  time 

These  fleshless  lovers  met, 

A  heaven  in  a  gaze, 

A  heaven  of  heavens,  the  privilege 

Of  one  another's  eyes. 

No  lifetime  set  on  them, 
Apparelled  as  the  new 
Unborn,  except  they  had  beheld, 
Born  everlasting  now. 

Was  bridal  e'er  like  this  ? 
A  paradise,  the  host, 
And  cherubim  and  seraphim 
The  most  familiar  guest. 


POEMS.  63 

XVI. 
APOCALYPSE. 

T  'M  wife  ;  I  've  finished  that, 

That  other  state ; 
I  'm  Czar,  I  'm  woman  now : 
It 's  safer  so. 

How  odd  the  girl's  life  looks 
Behind  this  soft  eclipse  ! 
I  think  that  earth  seems  so 
To  those  in  heaven  now. 

This  being  comfort,  then 
That  other  kind  was  pain ; 
But  why  compare  ? 
I  'm  wife  !  stop  there  ! 


04  POEMS. 

XVII. 
THE  WIFE. 

O  HE  rose  to  his  requirement,  dropped 
^     The  playthings  of  her  life 
To  take  the  honorable  work 
Of  woman  and  of  wife. 

If  aught  she  missed  in  her  new  day 
Of  amplitude,  or  awe, 
Or  first  prospective,  or  the  gold 
In  using  wore  away, 

It  lay  unmentioned,  as  the  sea 
Develops  pearl  and  weed, 
But  only  to  himself  is  known 
The  fathoms  they  abide. 


POEMS.  65 


XVIII. 
APOTHEOSIS. 


slowly,  Eden! 
Lips  unused  to  thee, 
Bashful,  sip  thy  jasmines, 
As  the  fainting  bee, 

Reaching  late  his  flower, 
Round  her  chamber  hums, 
Counts  his  nectars  —  enters, 
And  is  lost  in  balms  ! 


III. 

NATURE 


POEMS.  69 


I. 


VI  EW  feet  within  my  garden  go, 

New  fingers  stir  the  sod ; 
A  troubadour  upon  the  elm 
Betrays  the  solitude. 

New  children  play  upon  the  green, 
New  weary  sleep  below ; 
And  still  the  pensive  spring  returns, 
And  still  the  punctual  snow  ! 


70  POEMS. 

II. 
MAY-FLOWER. 


T)INK,  small,  and  punctual, 
•*•        Aromatic,  low, 
Covert  in  April, 
Candid  in  May, 


Dear  to  the  moss, 
Known  by  the  knoll, 
Next  to  the  robin 
In  every  human  soul. 

Bold  little  beauty, 
Bedecked  with  thee. 
Nature  forswears 
Antiquity. 


POEMS.  71 

III. 

WHY? 

'TpHE  murmur  of  a  bee 
•*•       A  witchcraft  yieldeth  me. 
If  any  ask  me  why, 
'Twere  easier  to  die 
Than  tell. 

The  red  upon  the  hill 
Taketh  away  my  will ; 
If  anybody  sneer, 
Take  care,  for  God  is  here, 
That 's  all. 

The  breaking  of  the  day 
Addeth  to  my  degree  ; 
If  any  ask  me  how, 
Artist,  who  drew  me  so, 
Must  tell ! 


7*  POEMS. 


IV. 


PERHAPS  you  'd  like  to  buy  a  flower? 

But  I  could  never  sell. 
If  you  would  like  to  borrow 
Until  the  daffodil 


Unties  her  yellow  bonnet 
Beneath  the  village  door, 
Until  the  bees,  from  clover  rows 
Their  hock  and  sherry  draw, 

Why,  I  will  lend  until  just  then, 
But  not  an  hour  more  ! 


POEMS.  73 


V. 


'  I  ''HE  pedigree  of  honey 

Does  not  concern  the  bee ; 
A  clover,  any  time,  to  him 
Is  aristocracy. 


74  POEMS. 

VI. 

A   SERVICE   OF   SONG. 


O  OME  keep  the  Sabbath  going  to  church ; 
^     I  keep  it  staying  at  home, 
With  a  bobolink  for  a  chorister, 
And  an  orchard  for  a  dome. 


Some  keep  the  Sabbath  in  surplice ; 
I  just  wear  my  wings, 
And  instead  of  tolling  the  bell  for  church, 
Our  little  sexton  sings. 

God  preaches,  —  a  noted  clergyman,  — 
And  the  sermon  is  never  long ; 
So  instead  of  getting  to  heaven  at  last, 
I  'm  going  all  along  ! 


POEMS.  75 


VII. 

/"~PHE  bee  is  not  afraid  of  me, 
•*•       I  know  the  butterfly ; 
The  pretty  people  in  the  woods 
Receive  me  cordially. 

The  brooks  laugh  louder  when  I  come, 
The  breezes  madder  play. 
Wherefore,  mine  eye-j,  thy  silver  mists  ? 
Wherefore,  O  summer's  day? 


76  POEMS. 


VIII. 
SUMMER'S   ARMIES. 

0  OME  rainbow  coming  from  the  fair  ! 
***     Some  vision  of  the  world  Cashmere 

1  confidently  see  ! 

Or  else  a  peacock's  purple  train, 
Feather  by  feather,  on  the  plain 
Fritters  itself  away  ! 

The  dreamy  butterflies  bestir, 
Lethargic  pools  resume  the  whir 
Of  last  year's  sundered  tune. 
From  some  old  fortress  on  the  sun 
Baronial  bees  march,  one  by  one, 
In  murmuring  platoon  ! 

The  robins  stand  as  thick  to-day 
As  flakes  of  snow  stood  yesterday, 


POEMS. 

On  fence  and  roof  and  twig. 
The  orchis  binds  her  feather  on 
For  her  old  lover,  Don  the  Sun, 
Revisiting  the  bog ! 

Without  commander,  countless,  still, 

The  regiment  of  wood  and  hill 

In  bright  detachment  stand. 

Behold  !     Whose  multitudes  are  these  ? 

The  children  of  whose  turbaned  seas, 

Or  what  Circassian  land  ? 


POEMS. 


IX. 
THE   GRASS. 

HP  HE  grass  so  little  has  to  do,  — 

A  sphere  of  simple  green, 
With  only  butterflies  to  brood, 
And  bees  to  entertain, 

And  stir  all  day  to  pretty  tunes 
The  breezes  fetch  along, 
And  hold  the  sunshine  in  its  lap 
And  bow  to  everything ; 

And  thread  the  dews  all  night,  like  pearls, 
And  make  itself  so  fine,  — 
A  duchess  were  too  common 
For  such  a  noticing. 


POEMS.  79 

And  even  when  it  dies,  to  pass 
In  odors  so  divine, 
As  lowly  spices  gone  to  sleep, 
Or  amulets  of  pine. 

And  then  to  dwell  in  sovereign  barns, 
And  dream  the  days  away,  — 
The  grass  so  little  has  to  do, 
I  wish  I  were  the  hay ! 


6Q  POEMS. 


X. 


A    LITTLE  road  not  made  ot  man, 
**•     Enabled  of  the  eye, 
Accessible  to  thill  of  bee, 
Or  cart  of  butterfly. 

If  town  it  have,  beyond  itself, 
'T  is  that  I  cannot  say  ; 
I  only  sigh,  —  no  vehicle 
Bears  me  along  that  way. 


POEMS.  8l 

XI. 

SUMMER   SHOWER. 

A    DROP  fell  on  the  apple  -tree, 
•*•*•     Another  on  the  roof; 
A  half  a  dozen  kissed  the  eaves, 
And  made  the  gables  laugh. 

A  few  went  out  to  help  the  brook, 
That  went  to  help  the  sea. 
Myself  conjectured,  Were  they  pearls, 
What  necklaces  could  be  ! 

The  dust  replaced  in  hoisted  roads, 
The  birds  jocoser  sung ; 
The  sunshine  threw  his  hat  away, 
The  orchards  spangles  hung. 

The  breezes  brought  dejected  lutes, 
And  bathed  them  in  the  glee ; 
The  East  put  out  a  single  flag, 
And  signed  the  fete  away, 
6 


82  POEMS. 


XII. 

PSALM   OF   THE   DAY. 

A    SOMETHING  in  a  summer's  day, 
•**•     As  slow  her  flambeaux  burn  away, 
Which  solemnizes  me. 

A  something  in  a  summer's  noon,  — 
An  azure  depth,  a  wordless  tune, 
Transcending  ecstasy. 

And  still  within  a  summer's  night 
A  something  so  transporting  bright, 
I  clap  my  hands  to  see ; 

Then  veil  my  too  inspecting  face, 
Lest  such  a  subtle,  shimmering  grace 
Flutter  too  far  for  me. 

The  wizard-fingers  never  rest, 
The  purple  brook  within  the  breast 
Still  chafes  its  narrow  bed ; 


POEMS.  83 

Still  rears  the  East  her  amber  flag, 
Guides  still  the  sun  along  the  crag 
His  caravan  of  red, 

Like  flowers  that  heard  the  tale  of  dews, 
But  never  deemed  the  dripping  prize 
Awaited  their  low  brows  ; 

Or  bees,  that  thought  the  summer's  name 
Some  rumor  of  delirium 
No  summer  could  for  them ; 

Or  Arctic  creature,  dimly  stirred 

By  tropic  hint,  —  some  travelled  bird 

Imported  to  the  wood  ; 

Or  wind's  bright  signal  to  the  ear, 
Making  that  homely  and  severe, 
Contented,  known,  before 

The  heaven  unexpected  came, 

To  lives  that  thought  their  worshipping 

A  too  presumptuous  psalm. 


84  POEMS. 


XIII. 
THE   SEA   OF   SUNSET. 

/~PHIS  is  the  land  the  sunset  washes, 
*      These  are  the  banks  of  the  Yellow  Sea ; 
Where  it  rose,  or  whither  it  rushes, 
These  are  the  western  mystery  ! 

Night  after  night  her  purple  traffic 
Strews  the  landing  with  opal  bales ; 
Merchantmen  poise  upon  horizons, 
Dip,  and  vanish  with  fairy  sails. 


POEMS.  85 

XIV. 
PURPLE   CLOVER. 

'"THERE  is  a  flower  that  bees  prefer, 
-*-      And  butterflies  desire ; 
To  gain  the  purple  democrat 
The  humming-birds  aspire. 

And  whatsoever  insect  pass, 
A  honey  bears  away 
Proportioned  to  his  several  dearth 
And  her  capacity. 

Her  face  is  rounder  than  the  moon, 
And  ruddier  than  the  gown 
Of  orchis  in  the  pasture, 
Or  rhododendron  worn. 

She  doth  not  wait  for  June ; 
Before  the  world  is  green 
Her  sturdy  little  countenance 
Against  the  wind  is  seen, 


86  POEMS. 

Contending  with  the  grass, 
Near  kinsman  to  herself, 
For  privilege  of  sod  and  sun, 
Sweet  litigants  for  life. 

And  when  the  hills  are  full, 
And  newer  fashions  blow, 
Doth  not  retract  a  single  spice 
For  pang  of  jealousy. 

Her  public  is  the  noon, 

Her  providence  the  sun, 

Her  progress  by  the  bee  proclaimed 

In  sovereign,  swerveless  tune. 

The  bravest  of  the  host, 
Surrendering  the  last, 
Nor  even  of  defeat  aware 
When  cancelled  by  the  frost. 


POEMS.  8'; 


XV. 

\ 

THE   BEE. 

T    IKE  trains  of  cars  on  tracks  of  plush 
•"     I  hear  the  level  bee  : 
A  jar  across  the  fljv/ers  goes, 
Their  velvet  masonry 

Withstands  until  the  sweet  assault 
Their  chivalry  consumes, 
While  he,  victorious,  tilts  away 
To  vanquish  other  blooms. 

His  feet  are  shod  with  gauze, 
His  helmet  is  of  gold  ; 
His  breast,  a  single  onyx 
With  chrysoprase,  inlaid. 

His  labor  is  a  chant, 
His  idleness  a  tune ; 
Oh,  for  a  bee's  experience 
Of  clovers  and  of  noon  ! 


88  POEMS. 


XVI. 


PRESENTIMENT  is  that  long  shadow  on  the  lawn 
•*•        Indicative  that  suns  go  down ; 
The  notice  to  the  startled  grass 
That  darkness  is  about  to  pass. 


POEMS. 


XVII. 

A  S  children  bid  the  guest  good-night, 
•**•     And  then  reluctant  turn, 
My  flowers  raise  their  pretty  lips, 
Then  put  their  nightgowns  on. 

As  children  caper  when  they  wake, 
Merry  that  it  is  morn, 
My  flowers  from  a  hundred  cribs 
Will  peep,  and  prance  again. 


90  POEMS. 


XVIII. 

A  NGELS  in  the  early  morning 
*^^     May  be  seen  the  dews  among, 
Stooping,  plucking,  smiling,  flying : 
Do  the  buds  to  them  belong? 

Angels  when  the  sun  is  hottest 
May  be  seen  the  sands  among, 
Stooping,  plucking,  sighing,  flying  : 
Parched  the  flowers  they  bear  along. 


POEMS.  91 


XIX. 

O  O  bashful  when  I  spied  her, 
^     So  pretty,  so  ashamed  ! 
So  hidden  in  her  leaflets, 
Lest  anybody  find ; 

So  breathless  till  I  passed  her, 
So  helpless  when  I  turned 
And  bore  her,  struggling,  blushing, 
Her  simple  haunts  beyond  ! 

For  whom  I  robbed  the  dingle, 
For  whom  betrayed  the  dell, 
Many  will  doubtless  ask  me, 
But  I  shall  never  tell  1 


POEMS. 


XX. 

TWO  WORLDS. 

TT  makes  no  difference  abroad, 

The  seasons  fit  the  same, 
The  mornings  blossom  into  noons, 
And  split  their  pods  of  flame. 

Wild-flowers  kindle  in  the  woods, 
The  brooks  brag  all  the  day ; 
No  blackbird  bates  his  jargoning 
For  passing  Calvary. 

Auto-da-ft  and  judgment 
Are  nothing  to  the  bee ; 
His  separation  from  his  rose 
To  him  seems  misery. 


POEMS. 


XXI. 

THE   MOUNTAIN. 

n^HE  mountain  sat  upon  the  plain 

In  his  eternal  chair, 
His  observation  omnifold, 
His  inquest  everywhere. 

The  seasons  prayed  around  his  knees, 
Like  children  round  a  sire  : 
Grandfather  of  the  days  is  he, 
Of  dawn  the  ancestor. 


94  POEMS. 

XXII. 
A   DAY. 

T  'LL  tell  you  how  the  sun  rose,  — - 

A  ribbon  at  a  time. 
The  steeples  swam  in  amethyst, 
The  news  like  squirrels  ran. 

The  hills  untied  their  bonnets, 
The  bobolinks  begun. 
Then  I  said  softly  to  myself, 
"  That  must  have  been  the  sun  !  " 

But  how  he  set,  I  know  not. 
There  seemed  a  purple  stile 
Which  little  yellow  boys  and  girls 
Were  climbing  all  the  while 

Till  when  they  reached  the  other  side, 
A  dominie  in  gray 
Put  gently  up  the  evening  bars, 
And  led  the  flock  away. 


POEMS.  95 


T 


XXIII. 

HE  butterfly's  assumption-gown, 

In  chrysoprase  apartments  hung, 
This  afternoon  put  on. 


How  condescending  to  descend, 
And  be  of  buttercups  the  friend 
In  a  New  England  town  ! 


XXIV. 
THE   WIND. 

ail  the  sounds  despatched  abroad, 
There  's  not  a  charge  to  me 

Like  that  old  measure  in  the  boughs, 

That  phraseless  melody 

The  wind  does,  working  like  a  hand 
Whose  fingers  brush  the  sky, 
Then  quiver  down,  with  tufts  of  tune 
Permitted  gods  and  me. 

When  winds  go  round  and  round  in  bands, 
And  thrum  upon  the  door, 
And  birds  take  places  overhead, 
To  bear  them  orchestra, 

I  crave  him  grace,  of  summer  boughs, 
If  such  an  outcast  be, 
He  never  heard  that  fleshless  chant 
Rise  solemn  in  the  tree, 


POEMS.  97 


As  if  some  caravan  of  sound 
On  deserts,  in  the  sky, 
Had  broken  rank, 
Then  knit,  and  passed 
In  seamless  company. 


08  POEMS. 


XXV. 
DEATH   AND   LIFE. 

A  PPARENTLY  with  no  surprise 
**     To  any  h?.^py  flower, 
The  frost  beheads  it  at  its  play 
In  accidental  power. 
The  blond  assassin  passes  on, 
The  sun  proceeds  unmoved 
To  measure  off  another  day 
For  an  approving  God. 


fOMMS.  99 


XXVI. 

"HP  WAS  later  when  the  summer  went 

Than  when  the  cricket  came, 
And  yet  we  knew  that  gentle  clock 
Meant  nought  but  going  home. 

'  T  was  sooner  when  the  cricket  went 
Than  when  the  winter  came, 
Yet  that  pathetic  pendulum 
Keeps  esoteric  time. 


POEMS. 


XXVII. 
INDIAN   SUMMER. 

HTHESE  are  the  days  when  birds  come  back, 
-*•       A  very  few,  a  bird  or  two, 
To  take  a  backward  look. 

These  are  the  days  when  skies  put  on 
The  old,  old  sophistries  of  June,  — 
A  blue  and  gold  mistake. 

Oh,  fraud  that  cannot  cheat  the  bee, 
Almost  thy  plausibility 
Induces  my  belief, 

Till  ranks  of  seeds  their  witness  bear, 
And  softly  through  the  altered  air 
Hurries  a  timid  leaf ! 


POEMS.  101 


Oh,  sacrament  of  summer  days, 
Oh,  last  communion  in  the  haze, 
Permit  a  child  to  join, 

Thy  sacred  emblems  to  partake, 
Thy  consecrated  bread  to  break, 
Taste  thine  immortal  wine  ! 


102  POEMS. 


XXVIII. 

AUTUMN. 

HpHE  morns  are  meeker  than  they  were, 
•*•      The  nuts  are  getting  brown ; 
The  berry's  cheek  is  plumper, 
The  rose  is  out  of  town. 

The  maple  wears  a  gayer  scarf, 
The  field  a  scarlet  gown. 
Lest  I  should  be  old-fashioned, 
I  '11  put  a  trinket  on. 


POEMS.  103 


XXIX. 

BECLOUDED. 

'"pHE  sky  is  low,  the  clouds  are  mean, 

A       A  travelling  flake  of  snow- 
Across  a  barn  or  through  a  rut 
Debates  if  it  will  go. 

A  narrow  wind  complains  all  day 
How  some  one  treated  him ; 
Nature,  like  us,  is  sometimes  caugnt 
Without  her  diadem. 


104  POEMS. 


XXX. 

THE   HEMLOCK. 

T  THINK  the  hemlock  likes  to  stand 
•*"      Upon  a  marge  of  snow ; 
It  suits  his  own  austerity, 
And  satisfies  an  awe 

That  men  must  slake  in  wilderness, 
Or  in  the  desert  cloy,  — 
An  instinct  for  the  hoar,  the  bald, 
Lapland's  necessity. 

The  hemlock's  nature  thrives  on  cold ; 
The  gnash  of  northern  winds 
Is  sweetest  nutriment  to  him, 
His  best  Norwegian  wines. 


POEMS.  105 


To  satin  races  he  is  nought ; 
But  children  on  the  Don 
Beneath  his  tabernacles  play, 
And  Dnieper  wrestlers  run. 


xo6  POEMS. 


XXXI. 

HP  HERE  'S  a  certain  slant  of  light, 
A       On  winter  afternoons, 
That  oppresses,  like  the  weight 
Of  cathedral  tunes. 

Heavenly  hurt  it  gives  us ; 
We  can  find  no  scar, 
But  internal  difference 
Where  the  meanings  are. 

None  may  teach  it  anything, 
'  T  is  the  seal,  despair,  — 
An  imperial  affliction 
Sent  us  of  the  air. 

When  it  comes,  the  landscape  listens, 
Shadows  hold  their  breath  ; 
When  it  goes,  't  is  like  the  distance 
On  the  look  of  death. 


IV. 


TIME    AND    ETERNITY. 


POEMS. 


ONE  dignity  delays  for  all, 
One  mitred  afternoon. 
None  can  avoid  this  purple, 
None  evade  this  crown. 

Coach  it  insures,  and  footmen, 
Chamber  and  state  and  throng ; 
Bells,  also,  in  the  village, 
As  we  ride  grand  along. 

What  dignified  attendants, 
What  service  when  we  pause  ! 
How  loyally  at  parting 
Their  hundred  hats  they  raise  ! 

How  pomp  surpassing  ermine, 
When  simple  you  and  I 
Present  our  meek  escutcheon, 
And  claim  the  rank  to  die  ! 


110  POEMS. 


II. 

TOO    LATE. 

"pvELAYED  till  she  had  ceased  to  know, 
^^     Delayed  till  in  its  vest  of  snow 

Her  loving  bosom  lay. 
An  hour  behind  the  fleeting  breath, 
Later  by  just  an  hour  than  death,  — 

Oh,  lagging  yesterday  ! 

Could  she  have  guessed  that  it  would  be ; 
Could  but  a  crier  of  the  glee 

Have  climbed  the  distant  hill ; 
Had  not  the  bliss  so  slow  a  pace,  — 
Who  knows  but  this  surrendered  face 

Were  undefeated  still? 


POEMS. 

Oh,  if  there  may  departing  be 
Any  forgot  by  victory 

In  her  imperial  round, 
Show  them  this  meek  apparelled  thing, 
That  could  not  stoo  V»  be  a  king, 

Doubtful  if  it  ue  crowned  ! 


112  POEMS. 


11 1, 

ASTRA   CASTRA. 

1T)EPARTED  to  the  judgment, 

A  mighty  afternoon ; 
Great  clouds  like  ushers  leaning, 
Creation  looking  on. 

The  flerh  surrendered,  cancelled, 
The  bodiless  begun ; 
Two  worlds,  like  audiences,  disperse 
And  leave  the  soul  alone. 


POEMS.  113 


IV. 


AFE  in  their  alabaster  chambers, 

Untouched  by  morning  and  untouched  by  noon, 
Sleep  the  meek  members  of  the  resurrection, 
Rafter  of  satin,  and  roof  of  stone. 

Light  laughs  the  breeze  in  her  castle  of  sunshine ; 
Babbles  the  bee  in  a  stolid  ear ; 
Pipe  the  sweet  birds  in  ignorant  cadence,  — 
Ah,  what  sagacity  perished  here  ! 

Grand  go  the  years  in  the  crescent  above  them ; 
Worlds  scoop  their  arcs,  and  firmaments  row, 
Diadems  drop  and  Doges  surrender, 
Soundless  as  dots  on  a  disk  of  snow. 


"4  POEMS. 


V. 


this  long  storm  the  rainbow  rose, 
On  this  late  morn  the  sun ; 

The  clouds,  like  listless  elephants, 

Horizons  straggled  down. 

The  birds  rose  smiling  in  their  nests, 
The  gales  indeed  were  done  ; 
Alas  !  how  heedless  were  the  eyes 
On  whom  the  summer  shone  ! 

The  quiet  nonchalance  of  death 
No  daybreak  can  bestir  ; 
The  slow  archangel's  syllables 
Must  awaken  her. 


POEMS.  115 


VI. 
FROM   THE   CHRYSALIS. 

"\/TY  cocoon  tightens,  colors  tease, 
•*•"•      I  'm  feeling  for  the  air ; 
A  dim  capacity  for  wings 
Degrades  the  dress  I  wear. 

A  power  of  butterfly  must  be 
The  aptitude  to  fly, 
Meadows  of  majesty  concedes 
And  easy  sweeps  of  sky. 

So  I  must  baffle  at  the  hint 
And  cipher  at  the  sign, 
And  make  much  blunder,  if  at  last 
I  take  the  clew  divine. 


n6  POEMS. 


VII. 
SETTING   SAIL. 


is  the  going 

Of  an  inland  soul  to  sea,  — 
Past  the  houses,  past  the  headlands, 
Into  deep  eternity  ! 

Bred  as  we,  among  the  mountains, 

Can  the  sailor  understand 

The  divine  intoxication 

Of  the  first  league  out  from  land  ? 


POEMS.  1 1 7 


VIII. 

T    OOK  back  on  time  with  kindly  eyes, 
•*-'     He  doubtless  did  his  best ; 
How  softly  sinks  his  trembling  sua 
In  human  nature's  west ! 


IlS  POEMS. 


IX. 


A    TRAIN  went  through  a  burial  gate, 
•^     A  bird  broke  forth  and  sang, 
And  trilled,  and  quivered,  and  shook  his  throa\ 
Till  all  the  churchyard  rang ; 

And  then  adjusted  his  little  notes, 
And  bowed  and  sang  again. 
Doubtless,  he  thought  it  meet  of  him 
To  say  good-by  to  men. 


POEMS.  lid 


X. 


T  DIED  for  beauty,  but  was  scarce 

•*•     Adjusted  in  the  tomb, 

When  one  who  died  for  truth  was  lain 

In  an  adjoining  room. 

He  questioned  softly  why  I  failed  ? 
"  For  beauty,"  I  replied. 
"  And  I  for  truth,  —  the  two  are  one  ; 
We  brethren  are,"  he  said. 

And  so,  as  kinsmen  met  a  night, 
We  talked  between  the  rooms, 
Until  the  moss  had  reached  our  lips, 
And  covered  up  our  names. 


POEMS. 


XI. 

"TROUBLED   ABOUT   MANY  THINGS." 

TT  OW  many  times  these  low  feet  staggered, 

Only  the  soldered  mouth  can  tell ; 
Try  !  can  you  stir  the  awful  rivet  ? 
Try  !  can  you  lift  the  hasps  of  steel  ? 

Stroke  the  cool  forehead,  hot  so  often, 
Lift,  if  you  can,  the  listless  hair; 
Handle  the  adamantine  ringers 
Never  a  thimble  more  shall  wear. 

Buzz  the  dull  flies  on  the  chamber  window ; 
Brave  shines  the  sun  through  the  freckled  pane ; 
Fearless  the  cobweb  swings  from  the  ceiling  — 
Indolent  housewife,  in  daisies  lain  ! 


r  / 


POEMS. 


XII. 

REAL. 

T  LIKE  a  look  of  agony, 
-*-      Because  I  know  it 's  true  ; 
Men  do  not  sham  convulsion, 
Nor  simulate  a  throe. 

The  eyes  glaze  once,  and  that  is  death. 

Impossible  to  feign 

The  beads  upon  the  forehead 

By  homely  anguish  strung. 


122  POEMS. 


XIII. 

THE   FUiNERAL. 

'IPHAT  short,  potential. stir 

That  each  can  make  but  once, 
That  bustle  so  illustrious 
'T  is  almost  consequence, 

Is  the  tclat  of  death. 
Oh,  thou  unknown  renown 
That  not  a  beggar  would  accept, 
Had  he  the  power  to  spurn  ! 


POEMS.  123 


XIV. 

T  WENT  to  thank  her, 

But  she  slept ; 
Her  bed  a  funnelled  stone, 
With  nosegays  at  the  head  and  foot, 
That  travellers  had  thrown, 

Who  went  to  thank  her ; 
But  she  slept. 

'T  was  short  to  cross  the  sea 
To  look  upon  her  like,  alive, 
But  turning  back  't  was  slow. 


POEMS. 


XV. 

T  'VE  seen  a  dying  eye 
•^      Run  round  and  round  a  room 
In  search  of  something,  as  it  seemed. 
Then  cloudier  become ; 
And  then,  obscure  with  fog, 
And  then  be  soldered  down, 
Without  disclosing  what  it  be, 
'Twere  blessed  to  have  seen. 


POEMS.  125 


XVI. 
REFUGE. 

clouds  their  backs  together  laid, 
The  north  begun  to  push, 
The  forests  galloped  till  they  fell, 
The  lightning  skipped  like  mice ; 
The  thunder  crumbled  like  a  stuff — 
How  good  to  be  safe  in  tombs, 
Where  nature's  temper  cannot  reach, 
Nor  vengeance  ever  comes  1 


126 


POEMS. 


XVII. 

r  NEVER  saw  a  moor, 
I  never  saw  the  sea  ; 
Yet  know  I  how  the  heather  looks* 
And  what  a  wave  must  be. 

I  never  spoke  with  God, 
Nor  visited  in  heaven; 
Yet  certain  am  I  of  the  spot 
As  if  the  chart  were  given. 


POEMS.  127 


XVIII. 
PLAYMATES. 

OD  permits  industrious  angels 

Afternoons  to  play. 
I  met  one,  —  forgot  my  school-mates, 
All,  for  him,  straightway. 

God  calls  home  the  angels  promptly 
At  the  setting  sun  ; 

I  missed  mine.     How  dreary  marbles, 
After  playing  Crown  ! 


128  POEMS. 


XIX. 

know  just  how  he  suffered  would  be  dear  ; 

To  know  if  any  human  eyes  were  near 
To  whom  he  could  intrust  his  wavering  gaze, 
Until  it  settled  firm  on  Paradise. 

To  know  if  he  was  patient,  part  content, 
Was  dying  as  he  thought,  or  different ; 
Was  it  a  pleasant  day  to  die, 
And  did  the  sunshine  face  his  way? 

What  was  his  furthest  mind,  of  home,  or  God, 

Or  what  the  distant  say 

At  news  that  he  ceased  human  nature 

On  such  a  day? 


POEMS.  129 

And  wishes,  had  he  any  ? 

Just  his  sigh,  accented, 

Had  been  legible  to  me. 

And  was  he  confident  until 

111  fluttered  out  in  everlasting  well  ? 

And  if  he  spoke,  what  name  was  best, 

What  first, 

What  one  broke  off  with 

At  the  drowsiest? 

Was  he  afraid,  or  tranquil? 

Might  he  know 

How  conscious  consciousness  could  grow, 

Till  love  that  was,  and  love  too  blest  to  be, 

Meet  —  and  the  junction  be  Eternity? 


*  3°  POEMS. 


XX. 

last  night  that  she  lived, 
It  was  a  common  night, 
Except  the  dying  ;  this  to  us 
Made  nature  different. 

We  noticed  smallest  things,  — 
Things  overlooked  before, 
By  this  great  light  upon  our  minds 
Italicized,  as  't  were. 

That  others  could  exist 
While  she  must  finish  quite, 
A  jealousy  for  her  arose 
So  nearly  i 


We  waited  while  she  passed  ; 

It  was  a  narrow  time, 

Too  jostled  were  our  souls  to  speak, 

At  length  the  notice  came. 


POEMS. 

She  mentioned,  and  forgot ; 
Then  lightly  as  a  reed 
Bent  to  the  water,  shivered  scarce, 
Consented,  and  was  dead. 

And  we,  we  placed  the  hair, 
And  drew  the  head  erect ; 
And  then  an  awful  leisure  was, 
Our  faith  to  regulate. 


1 3  2  POEMS. 


XXI. 
THE   FIRST   LESSON. 

VT  OT  in  this  world  to  see  his  face 
•*•  ^      Sounds  long,  until  I  read  the  place 
Where  this  is  said  to  be 
But  just  the  primer  to  a  life 
Unopened,  rare,  upon  the  shelf, 
Clasped  yet  to  him  and  me. 

And  yet,  my  primer  suits  me  so 
I  would  not  choose  a  book  to  know 
Than  that,  be  sweeter  wise  ; 
Might  some  one  else  so  learned  be, 
And  leave  me  just  my  ABC, 
Himself  could  have  the  skies. 


POEMS.  133 


XXII. 

'"PHE  bustle  in  a  house 

The  morning  after  death 
Is  solemnest  of  industries 
Enacted  upon  earth,  — 

The  sweeping  up  the  heart, 
And  putting  love  away 
We  shall  not  want  to  use  again 
Until  ^ernity. 


'34  POEMS. 


XXIII. 

T  REASON,  earth  is  short, 

And  anguish  absolute. 
And  many  hurt ; 
But  what  of  that? 

I  reason,  we  could  die : 
The  best  vitality 
Cannot  excel  decay  ; 
But  what  of  that? 

I  reason  that  in  heavea 
Somehow,  it  will  be  even, 
Some  new  equation  given ; 
But  what  of  that  ? 


POEMS.  135 


XXIV. 


A  FRAID  ?     Of  whom  am  I  afraid  ? 
**•     Not  death  ;  for  who  is  he  ? 
The  porter  of  my  father's  lodge 
As  much  abasheth  me. 


Of  life  ?     T  were  odd  I  fear  a  thing 
That  comprehendeth  me 
In  one  or  more  existences 
At  Deity's  decree. 

Of  resurrection  ?     Is  the  east 
Afraid  to  trust  the  morn 
With  her  fastidious  forehead? 
As  soon  impeach  my  crown  ! 


136  POEMS. 

XXV. 
DYING. 

'HP  HE  sun  kept  setting,  setting  still ; 
•*•       No  hue  of  afternoon 
Upon  the  village  I  perceived,  — 
From  house  to  house  't  was  noon. 

The  dusk  kept  dropping,  dropping  still 
No  dew  upon  the  grass, 
But  only  on  my  forehead  stopped, 
And  wandered  in  my  face. 

My  feet  kept  drowsing,  drowsing  still, 
My  fingers  were  awake  ; 
Yet  why  so  little  sound  myself 
Unto  my  seeming  make  ? 

How  well  I  knew  the  light  before  ! 
I  could  not  see  it  now. 
'T  is  dying,  I  am  doing ;  but 
I  'm  not  afraid  to  know. 


POEMS.  137 


XXVI. 

'  I AWO  swimmers  wrestled  on  the  spar 

Until  the  morning  sun, 
When  one  turned  smiling  to  the  land 
O  God,  the  other  one  ! 

The  stray  ships  passing  spied  a  face 
Upon  the  waters  borne, 
With  eyes  in  death  still  begging  raised, 
And  hands  beseeching  thrown. 


POEMS. 


XXVII. 
THE   CHARIOT. 


T3ECAUSE  I  could  not  stop  for  Death, 

He  kindly  stopped  for  me ; 
The  carriage  held  but  just  ourselves 
And  Immortality. 


We  slowly  drove,  he  knew  no  haste, 
And  I  had  put  away 
My  labor,  and  my  leisure  too, 
For  his  civility. 

We  passed  the  school  where  children  played. 

Their  lessons  scarcely  done  ; 

We  passed  the  fields  of  gazing  grain, 

We  passed  the  setting  sun. 


POEMS.  139 

We  paused  before  a  house  that  seemed 
A  swelling  of  the  ground  ; 
The  roof  was  scarcely  visible, 
The  cornice  but  a  mound. 

Since  then  't  is  centuries ;  but  each 
Feels  shorter  than  the  day 
I  first  surmised  the  horses'  heads 
Were  toward  eternity. 


140  POEMS 


XXVIII. 

OHE  went  as  quiet  as  the  dew 
^     From  a  familiar  flower. 
Not  like  the  dew  did  she  return 
At  the  accustomed  hour  ! 

She  dropt  as  softly  as  a  star 
From  out  my  summer's  eve ; 
Less  skilful  than  Leverrier 
It 's  sorer  to  believe  ! 


POEMS 


XXIX 
RESURGAM. 

A  T  last  to  be  identified  ! 

At  last,  the  lamps  upon  thy  side, 
The  rest  of  life  to  see  ! 
Past  midnight,  past  the  morning  star ! 
Past  sunrise  !     Ah  !   what  leagues  there  are 
Between  our  ieet  and  day ! 


I42  POEMS. 


XXX. 

XCEPT  to  heaven,  she  is  nought ; 

Except  for  angels,  lone  ; 
Except  to  some  wide-wandering  bee, 
A  flower  superfluous  blown ; 

Except  for  winds,  provincial ; 
Except  by  butterflies, 
Unnoticed  as  a  single  dew 
That  on  the  acre  lies. 

The  smallest  housewife  in  the  grass, 
Yet  take  her  from  the  lawn, 
And  somebody  has  lost  the  face 
That  made  existence  home  ! 


POEMS.  143 


XXXI. 

"T\EATH  is  a  dialogue  between 

^     The  spirit  and  the  dust. 

«  Dissolve,"  says  Death,     The  Spirit,  "  Sir, 

I  have  another  trust," 

Death  doubts  it,  argues  from  the  ground. 
The  Spirit  turns  away, 
Just  laying  off,  for  evidence, 
An  overcoat  of  clay. 


*44  POEMS. 


XXXII. 

T  T  was  too  late  for  man, 
•*•     But  early  yet  for  God  ; 
Creation  impotent  to  help, 
But  prayer  remained  our  side. 

How  excellent  the  heaven, 
When  earth  cannot  be  had  ; 
How  hospitable,  then,  the  face 
Of  our  old  neighbor,  God  1 


POEMS.  145 

XXXIII. 
ALONG   THE   POTOMAC. 

"\\  7HEN  I  was  small,  a  woman  died. 

To-day  her  only  boy 
Went  up  from  the  Potomac, 
His  face  all  victory, 

To  look  at  her  ;  how  slowly 
The  seasons  must  have  turned 
Till  bullets  dipt  an  angle, 
And  he  passed  quickly  round  ! 

If  pride  shall  be  in  Paradise 
I  never  can  decide  ; 
Of  their  imperial  conduct, 
No  person  testified. 

But  proud  in  apparition, 

That  woman  and  her  boy 

Pass  back  and  forth  before  my  brain, 

As  ever  in  the  sky. 


POEMS. 


XXXIV. 

n^HE  daisy  follows  soft  the  sun, 

And  when  his  golden  walk  is  done, 

Sits  shyly  at  his  feet. 
He,  waking,  finds  the  flower  near. 
"  Wherefore,  marauder,  art  thou  here  ? 

"  Because,  sir,  love  is  sweet !  " 

We  are  the  flower,  Thou  the  sun  ! 
Forgive  us,  if  as  days  decline, 

We  nearer  steal  to  Thee,  — 
Enamoured  of  the  parting  west, 
The  peace,  the  flight,  the  amethyst, 

Night's  possibility  ! 


POEMS.  147 

XXXV. 
EMANCIPATION. 

NO  rack  can  torture  me, 
My  soul 's  at  liberty. 
Behind  this  mortal  bone 
There  knits  a  bolder  one 

You  cannot  prick  with  saw, 
Nor  rend  with  scymitar. 
Two  bodies  therefore  be  ; 
Bind  one,  and  one  will  flee. 

The  eagle  of  his  nest 
No  easier  divest 
And  gain  the  sky, 
Than  mayest  thou, 

Except  thyself  may  be 
Thine  enemy ; 
Captivity  is  consciousness, 
So  's  liberty. 


POEMS. 


XXXVI. 
LOST. 

T  LOST  a  world  the  other  day. 
•*"      Has  anybody  found  ? 
You  '11  know  it  by  the  row  of  stars 
Around  its  forehead  bound. 

A  rich  man  might  not  notice  it ; 
Yet  to  my  frugal  eye 
Of  more  esteem  than  ducats. 
Oh,  find  it,  sir,  for  me  ! 


POEMS,  149 


XXXVII. 

T  F  I  should  n't  be  alive 

When  the  robins  come, 
Give  the  one  in  red  cravat 
A  memorial  crumb. 

If  I  could  n't  thank  you, 
Being  just  asleep, 
You  will  know  I  'm  trying 
With  my  granite  lip  1 


1,5°  FOE  MS. 


XXXVIII. 

OLEEP  is  supposed  to  be, 

By  souls  of  sanity, 
The  shutting  of  the  eye. 

Sleep  is  the  station  grand 
Down  which  on  either  hand 
The  hosts  of  witness  stand  ! 

Morn  is  supposed  to  be, 
By  people  of  degree, 
The  breaking  of  the  day. 

Morning  has  not  occurred  ! 
That  shall  aurora  be 
East  of  eternity ; 

One  with  the  banner  gay, 
One  in  the  red  array,  — 
That  is  the  break  of  day. 


POEMS.  151 


XXXIX, 

T  SHALL  know  why,  when  time  is  over, 
A      And  I  have  ceased  to  wonder  why ; 
Christ  will  explain  each  separate  anguish 
In  the  fair  schoolroom  of  the  sky. 

He  will  tell  me  what  Peter  promised, 
And  I,  for  wonder  at  his  woe, 
I  shall  forget  the  drop  of  anguish 
That  scalds  me  now,  that  scalds  me  now. 


152  POEMS. 


XL. 

T  NEVER  lost  as  much  but  twice, 
•*"      And  that  was  in  the  sod  j 
Twice  have  I  stood  a  beggar 
Before  the  door  of  God  \ 

Angels,  twice  descending, 
Reimbursed  my  store. 
Burglar,  banker,  father, 
I  am  poor  once  more  1 


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